


I Know The Sound Of Your Heart

by LibbyWrites



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn - Fandom
Genre: Architect Liam, Arguing, Artist Zayn, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Music, Neighbors, Painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-03-13 00:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13558527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibbyWrites/pseuds/LibbyWrites
Summary: Liam always adored the peace and quiet of his neighborhood. Until a new neighbor shows up and turns his world upside down with much more than just loud music.





	I Know The Sound Of Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laziam (MItCheLlInE)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MItCheLlInE/gifts).



> Hi!
> 
> This is my second submission for the Zaim Fic Challenge 2k17! I volunteered as a pinch hitter and I'm incredibly glad I did because I loved writing this fic so much!
> 
> Out of all the prompts requested, this was the one that jumped at me. I immediately saw a story in my head and I hope my recipient is happy with the twists I gave it. I planned on writing something shorter but it got completely out of hand, I loved the idea that much!
> 
> The prompt was: "Zayn and Liam are neighbours (in houses not flats, no idea why this is important lol). They constantly have arguments (parking, noise, overgrown plants in garden ect. or whatever else springs to mind). One of them comes home late and has an embarrassing emergency. He needs the other one's help."
> 
> Massive thanks to the organizers of the challenge for giving me this opportunity, and to my beloved beta, [Marea](http://marea707.tumblr.com/), for actually reviewing this work while on vacation. You're an angel and I adore you.
> 
> I hope you like this story and if you do, please leave kudos and/or comments! Thank you!

_“Sometimes you've got to bleed to know_  
_That you're alive and have a soul,_  
_But it takes someone to come around to show you how.”_

“Motherfucker…” Liam cursed under his breath. Or so he thought. As soon as the expletive left his mouth he could _feel_ Louis shooting him a questioning look from his place on the other side of the sofa.

Liam rolled his eyes and mumbled another curse, knowing Louis would ask about it, like the reason for his sudden anger wasn’t obvious. To his surprise, Louis chirped instead, “Oh, I love that song!” What? Was he joking? This time it was Liam the one throwing questioning looks. Apparently, Louis did notice Liam protest, but instead of agreeing, he was gleefully welcoming the music, blasting from the neighbor’s house.

“Are you shitting me, Louis?” Liam asked out loud, letting his head fall back on the back of the sofa with a barely audible thud. “The new neighbor has been torturing me all week, blasting the most random music, at all hours, and all you can say is you love the song?” he complained, pausing the game, throwing the controller on top of his lap in order to cross his arms.

“I thought you liked Twenty One Pilots?” Louis asked, confused.

It took all of Liam’s strength not to strangle Louis right there and then. “That’s not the point! It’s too fucking loud, are you deaf?” he asked, uncrossing his arms to wave them all around him, like he could point at the offending sound waves noisily making their way across the air.

Louis laughed in response, kicking his foot. “You’ve truly become an old man, haven’t you?” he asked, amused. “Look at you, all grumpy because the neighbor plays hip music. Kids these days!” he mocked Liam, using his best _‘old man shaking his fist at the sky’_ impression, shaky voice and all.

“Shut up!” Liam chastised him, kicking back. “I’m not an old man. I just appreciate music at a normal volume, for one. And for two, I like my silence sometimes, okay?” he explained. Louis should understand that, right? He knew better than anyone that was one of the many reasons why Liam still lived in this house. “Besides, this has been going on for days, man. If it was, like, once or twice, on the weekend, I’d be okay with it, but every day? At any hour? Last night he played some Pavarotti at three in the morning!”

Louis, of course, laughed again, shaking his head. “Have you talked to the dude? Maybe no one told him yet that’s not proper neighbor etiquette,” he suggested.

“I’ll teach him about etiquette,” Liam declared, promptly jumping to his feet, fuming all the way to the door. Yeah, he knew it was a Sunday, and he knew it was barely 5pm, but still. The new guy needed to calm the fuck down before Liam lost his mind.

Leaving Louis behind, he walked out of his house and down the steps of his porch. He reached the neighbor’s house, he climbed the steps and forgetting all about being polite, he banged a fist on the door.

He definitely wasn’t an old man. Louis was full of shit. He simply enjoyed the silence, the birds chirping, the calm of a quiet neighborhood. That was one the main reasons why he never moved to the city, right? It would’ve been the smarter move, considering he had a long commute to work every day, but no. The noisy city was hell, and he was too used to this. The peace of his parents’ old house was undisputed. When they retired and decided to go live near the ocean, Liam jumped at the chance of keeping the place for himself. It was sentimental as fuck, yeah, but it was also because he enjoyed the peace.

Until now, of course. The neighborhood was full of really quiet people. Even the ones that had kids or dogs seemed to understand how important the quietness was. The old lady that used to live next door to Liam (before the offending asshole that didn’t seem to hear the door moved in) was so lovely. So kind. So tranquil. Liam missed her terribly, now more than ever.

He banged again, louder, frustrated, until the door finally opened, and his fist froze midair. Oh. Wow. He was expecting some gnarly dude, some gross idiot that had ‘jerk’ written all over his ugly face, someone Liam could easily hate. Not _this_.

Standing there, a bit taken aback by Liam’s raised fist, was the most beautiful human being Liam had ever laid eyes on. Surprised hazel eyes looked back at him from behind never-ending eyelashes. A sinful mouth was parted in confusion. Every single detail of that face was perfect. The jawline. The nose. The cheekbones. Chiseled by angels. Liam felt his heart skip a beat.

The guy ran paint stained fingers through his black hair, leaving little yellow flecks behind, the same yellow that stained his clothes. Maybe Liam should ponder why his hands were dirty with paint but all his attention went straight from those hands to ink covered arms, and from there it went straight to a slim body that felt stronger than it looked, covered in black clothes. Fuck. He swallowed hard.

“Um… can I help you?” the guy asked, and fuck, even his voice had to be delicious; deep and soft and musical. Damn.

It was kind of like being hypnotized, and it took a lot of effort on Liam’s part to wake up from the trance and remember he was standing there for a reason. A very annoying, stupid reason. “Uh, yeah, I…” he shook his head, finally loosening his fist and letting his hand fall awkwardly to his side while he tried to find his anger again. Where the fuck was it? Why did the neighbor have to be so fucking lovely? “Keep the music down, yeah?” he mumbled, like an idiot. He had planned on screaming. What the fuck.

The guy smiled in response, and Liam felt like dying. “Oh. But I’m working,” he explained, like it was obvious, like it was a perfect justification. What the fuck did that even mean? Liam found his anger again really fast after that.

“I don’t care, man. Keep it down, for fuck’s sake,” he spat, and then the turned away to flee from that gorgeous, dangerous, disrespectful man.

He didn’t even stop to hear his reply. He hurried back home, half-jogging the whole way because he refused to be seen actually running away. As soon as he walked back into his living room, he plopped down on the sofa like a ragdoll. Before he could open his mouth, he heard the music being turned down. Just a bit. “Motherfucker,” he mumbled again, biting his lips, trying not to smile. Fuck.

“And? Is he that bad?” Louis asked tentatively, not daring to get closer to Liam.

Liam sighed, somehow angrier than before. “You have no idea.”

 

~~~

 

_“I realized I belong to you,  
I feel the darkness when I'm away from you…”_

 

Liam’s routine during the week was a pain in the ass, okay? Yes, he loved living far from the city, but that implied waking up way too early and enduring a long commute that drained his energy, every weekday. His work as an architect wasn’t that important for the company yet, so the suggestion of working from home was met with an amused chuckle and a ‘go back to work’ from his boss.

Maybe waking up at fucking 5:30 in the morning could be considered the worst part. He was always sleepy incredibly early and went to bed like a grandpa at 10pm. That stupid alarm so fucking early in the morning was the worst part, yeah. Or it used to be. Until the fucking new neighbor moved in. Every single minute of Liam’s sleep was carefully calculated and dearly needed, but this guy didn’t seem to give a fuck about that.

That next Monday night, just as Liam finally drifted off to sleep after a long, tiring day, The Weeknd’s voice blasted from the neighbor’s windows, effectively waking him up in an instant. Liam’s frustrated scream at the ceiling almost drowned it. Almost.

Led completely by his anger, he jumped out of the bed and searched in the semi-darkness for the first weather appropriate clothes he could find. He was so mad he would’ve gone out in his underwear, but the last thing he needed was a cold.

As soon as he reached the neighbor’s door, he banged his fist again. This time he was ready. This time he wouldn’t be caught by surprise. He knew what was waiting behind that door. This time he was so ready.

Or not. No, he wasn’t ready. At all. As soon as the neighbor opened the door he was just as overwhelmed as the previous time. The only difference was that this time those offending hands were stained green. The rest was just as breathtaking as before. Shit.

“Can I help you?” the asshole asked with an amused smirk, like he had no idea why Liam was there. The nerve.

“Are you kidding me?” Liam asked, exasperated. “It’s not the weekend anymore, you need to keep it the fuck down!” he spat, annoyed beyond belief.

The guy just smiled calmly. “But it is. The Weeknd, I mean,” he explained, practically glowing like he was about to high five himself for the joke.

“Are you serious right now?” Liam demanded, out of patience, way too tired and angry to admit that it was, in fact, a funny pun. “It’s 10 pm on a Monday night! The neighborhood needs to sleep, okay?” he cried, so frustrated he felt like punching something.

The other man looked around, like he had no idea what Liam was talking about. “Are you sure? You’re the only one that’s complained about the music since I moved. The couple from across the street even brought me Shepherd’s Pie the other night, saying they loved Pavarotti,” he explained, like Liam was crazy for making a scene.

Liam rolled his eyes, wanting to scream. “I don’t care! I need to sleep because I have to go to work in the morning and your music won’t let me!” he tried, hoping the guy would at least pity him, as embarrassing as that would be. As long as it got him to turn the volume down, he didn’t care.

“I told you, I’m working too,” the man replied matter-of-factly, like that explained everything. What kind of work could he even need music that loud for? What the fuck?

“I don’t give a fuck. You’re the worst neighbor I’ve ever had, man, fuck… Please turn it down or I’ll call the police,” he finished, fed up. He was tired. He was too tired after an early morning and a long day at work.

He turned to leave as the guy mumbled something, but Liam didn’t stay to listen. The volume was turned down just a bit during his walk back home, and Liam sighed, exhausted. He had no choice but to force himself to ignore the music, head buried under his pillow.

 

~~~

 

_“I know you've suffered but I don't want you to hide,_  
_It's cold and loveless, I won't let you be denied._  
_Soothing, I'll make you feel pure,_  
_Trust me, you can be sure…”_

Liam’s requests made no effect. None whatsoever. Wednesday night rolled in and as Liam was getting ready for bed, Muse started playing from the house next door, loud as always, the bass making his windows actually shake.

Liam dropped his head in defeat, sitting on his bed, half naked, desperate for a little silence. Some stupid, treacherous part of his brain suggested maybe he should give the guy a break, considering he at least had the decency to play music Liam liked (eclectic as his taste was), but no. Hell no. He needed his sleep, dammit.

Braving the November cold, he stood from his bed and opened his bedroom window. He had a clear view of a few of the windows next door, but the offender was not in sight. Fuck.

He considered just going back to bed, but he was way too annoyed to let it slide, so as soon as he saw shadows moving on the ground floor, he screamed “Turn it down!”, even though he had zero hopes of being heard. At least not by this asshole. His windows were closed and Matt Bellamy was sultrily singing his heart out at full volume, drowning Liam’s voice. The rest of the neighborhood, however, probably did hear his useless plea.

Still angry and annoyed, Liam grabbed the nearest thing he found, which happened to be a shoe, and threw it at one of the windows. He didn’t really want to break it or anything, it was more an attempt at releasing some frustration. Actually, he thought he was too far away to hit his target, but guess what? He did. Bullseye. Shit.

He took two steps back into the darkness of his room, suddenly scared of being caught. The shadow on the other side of the glass stopped moving, and then the music paused, the light was on, and there he was. Opening the window, looking around, cigarette dangling from his lips, looking sexy as hell, dressed in black as always.

His eyes found the source of the projectile soon enough, and he smiled. Spying from the shadows, Liam heard him chuckle as soon as his eyes saw the open window on the first floor of Liam’s house.

The guy looked down and sure enough, he found the shoe laying on the grass. “A shoe, really?” he asked, looking up again.

Liam knew he had to face the consequences of his childish actions, so he took the two steps that separated him from the window, trying to put on a brave face. “You still don’t get it, do you?” he asked, noticing this time those perfect hands were stained red as they gripped the window sill, leaving handprints behind.

“I do get it. It’s you that doesn’t get it, I think. I told you I’m working,” the guy explained, again, like he was the one getting annoyed this time.

“Are you serious?” Liam asked, exasperated. He had to be kidding. What work could possibly entail listening to loud music all day long? He was so full of shit.

Another chuckle broke through the cold air, and Liam rolled his eyes. “I am serious. You see, I need music for—”

“Oh, shut up already!” Liam yelled, interrupting the speech. He had zero time to listen to stupid excuses. He was too tired and the man was too hot and he didn’t have one functioning brain cell left to pay attention.

After a beat of silence, the guy replied. “Why don’t you make me?” he suggested, and Liam ran out of patience. He wasn’t used to this. He was too… Too sleepy, and too turned on, and too confused. He did know he liked guys, he had been through all that process back in college, that wasn’t the confusing part. The confusing part was that he never really acted on those feelings and now this hot, annoying creature was provoking him and fuck, he had no idea what to do about that.

“Fuck off!” he screamed, closing the window so hard the glass vibrated, walking away from it like it had been set on fire.

He mumbled curses under his breath as he finally got into bed, and if he angrily touched himself to sleep, thinking about gorgeous hands staining his skin red, no one had to know.

 

~~~

 

_“You're kissing me and saying I'm the one you need_  
_To keep you warm and lay with you tonight._  
_Baby, I feel the same way, I don't want to leave._  
_I want to hold you close and feel your love inside…”_

It was Friday night already and all Liam wanted was to die. Or, you know, sleep at least 12 hours. Or 30. His week had been hell at work, but he wished that would be his main problem. There was the not being able to sleep issue. The music issue. The neighbor issue.

The entire week had been the same. Some ridiculous song, played really loud, at any hour. Most of the times, it was just as Liam was falling asleep, or sleeping already. He couldn’t afford the luxury of wasting precious minutes of rest, so he always ended up screaming out his window, or banging on the neighbor’s door.

And every night it was the same. He was too overwhelmed by how soft the man was, how lovely, how gorgeous, how annoyingly beautiful he was. Half the time Liam found himself screaming at him to get him to turn down the music and the other half to keep himself from kissing him stupid.

But no. The guy was still a jerk and he didn’t deserved being the first man Liam ever kissed. Yeah, he always turned down the music when Liam asked him too, but the next night he did it again, like he was provoking Liam, like he enjoyed making him mad. Liam had every right to be angry.

To make it all worse, the only explanation/excuse he ever got from the man was that he was ‘working’. Liam still had no idea what the fuck that meant, and it sounded like a cheap lie. Liam should really call the police. The only reason he didn’t was that it wasn’t worth the hassle. Going back to his bed to sleep always ended up being more important.

And that was all he had in his mind when he got home that Friday night, completely beat after over 12 hours at the studio and the stupid commute home. It was almost midnight and he climbed the steps of his porch trying not to throw angry looks at the house next door. Bed. His bed was all that mattered. But as soon as his key turned and his door opened to welcome him inside, Mariah started singing. Fuck!

He resolutely ignored it. He decided he was so fucking tired maybe his brain would be able to ignore it in order to shut itself off. His briefcase landed on the couch with a thud and he stomped his way to his room, mumbling, so annoyed he was sure smoke was pouring out of his ears, like in cartoons.

He took his clothes off, he took a hot shower, he put his sleeping joggers on and he went back downstairs to take care of the few things he needed to do before bed. A quick microwave dinner first, then doing the dishes, then feeding his cat, then taking the trash out.

It was way too cold outside to do that in his ratty joggers, but he was way too tired to think about putting something else on. He just grabbed the trash bag and he opened the front door, barefoot and semi naked and freezing. The task would take him just a minute, and then he would go straight to his warm bed. So close. So so close.

Or not. He was so tired he only realized he didn’t have his keys with him when he stood in front of his door again and he realized it was closed. Very closed. Very much locked. Dammit.

He felt like crying. He didn’t have a spare key. He always saw people in movies hiding one in plants or under doormats but he never thought he would need one. Why would he forget his keys? He never forgot anything. Shit. It made sense now. He felt like an idiot.

It took the cold air seconds to reach his bones, and thinking when you’re shivering is pretty darn hard, but somehow he remembered. Louis had a spare key! His lazy ass gave him one ages ago just so he wouldn’t have to go all the way to the door every time Louis visited him. He should call Louis. That would be his salvation.

He actually patted his hips where his jean’s pockets should be. Oh. Right. His jeans were inside. His phone was in those pockets. Well. He was fucked. Royally fucked. He was going to freeze to death and the last thing he would hear would be Mariah’s adlibs.

For a second there he looked around, considering asking for help. Then his eyes reached the house next door. No. No way. Not in a million years would he show up at that door begging for help in his sorry state. Fuck that.

He needed to think for a second, just think. There had to be an easier way. It didn’t matter that that obnoxious prick’s windows were the only ones with a light on in the entire block. Fuck. That.

Braving the cold, he sat down on the porch steps for a moment, holding himself. Thinking. Shivering. Cold. So cold. He was going to get fucking pneumonia, and then Louis would laugh at him because he chose pneumonia over asking the neighbor for help. Agh.

After a good half an hour of refusing to listen to reason, rolling his eyes and hating his life, he surrendered. There was no other option. Shit. Rubbing his own arms in an attempt to not freeze, he hastily walked all the way to the neighbor’s door, and he knocked. Politely this time.

Of course, the music was so loud the guy would never hear a polite knock, so he knocked again, louder this time, and then he waited.

A few seconds later, the music got turned down a bit, and the door opened. Liam’s neighbor wasn’t even looking at him, he was holding his cellphone in his hands, typing something, his eyes following his fingers. “Okay, okay, jeez…” he complained, and Liam didn’t even speak. He couldn’t.

For one, because as soon as the door opened, a wave of warmth came from inside the house, so sweet and satisfying Liam wanted to cry. And then, well… There was skin everywhere. Skin. Ink. Specks of blue paint and ink and skin. So much skin. The guy was just as semi naked as Liam was and man, that was enough to set a fire in him hot enough to make him forget he was freezing.

He was ogling so intensely he didn’t even notice the man finally looking up at him. “Oh my god, what the fuck?” the guy exclaimed, and all of a sudden a warm hand was holding Liam’s wrist, pulling him inside. “You’re freezing! Why the hell are you naked?” he asked, and Liam stammered, searching for an answer cooler than the reality through clattering teeth.

There was none though, so he admitted defeat. “I got locked out. Can I use your phone?” he explained, shaking, so ashamed, trying to ignore how turned on he was. Thank fuck for the cold shriveling his parts, keeping him from embarrassing himself further.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” the other man conceded immediately, handing Liam his phone.

He grabbed it and with trembling fingers he dialed Louis’ number. Being a Friday night, he knew his friend wouldn’t be sleeping. “Hey, Louis, please save my life,” he begged, as soon as Louis picked up.

 _“Liam? What happened? Whose number is this?”_ Louis asked, giggling like someone was tickling him.

Liam shook his head. “It’s not important, man. I got locked out. Can you bring me my key, please?” he begged, hoping Louis wouldn’t refuse. He owed him a few favors, so.

 _“But I’m with Harry!”_ Louis complained, and Liam could practically see him pouting like a child.

“I don’t care. Remember who introduced the two of you? Bring him if you want. Just please save me, you dick, or else…” he warned. That was enough, he heard Louis cursing on the other side of the line before hanging up.

When he was done, he faced his naked, gorgeous nemesis again, trying to keep his eyes on his face. “Thank you. I’ll go now,” he declared, handing the phone back and then promptly turned around, ready to go.

“What?” he heard from behind him. “You’re freezing! I can’t let you go like this, what kind of monster do you think I am?” the guy asked, his warm hand taking Liam by the arm once again.

Liam rolled his eyes. “A loud one,” he replied, adamant on leaving but unable to stop his body from turning around. Apparently he was too weak. Or too cold, who knows.

“Oh, please,” the guy laughed, and yes, his laugh was delicious. Just as soft and beautiful as he was. “I can’t let you wait in the cold. Come on, I’ll get you a blanket and some coffee while you wait for your friend, yeah?” he suggested, disappearing from view before Liam could say no. Ugh. Fuck.

Standing alone, still by the door, his body getting warmer, he took a moment to look around. He couldn’t help it, okay? It had been ages since he had been inside this house. His mum used to be great friends with Mrs. Malik, the previous owner. The old lady had taught his sister ballet, and that meant he had spent many afternoons playing in this house when he was little.

Everything looked a lot like he remembered, making him feel that strange sense of comfort he remembered so well. He gave a few tentative steps forward, trying to take a peek at the big room to his right. It was one of his favorite places in the house. Mrs. Malik taught her classes there, it was a gorgeous open room with wooden floors and floor to ceiling windows and mirrors. He had no right to satisfy his curiosity, but he did wonder what the neighbor had done to tarnish the memories that room held.

What he found left him speechless. The room was pretty much the same. The floor, the windows, the mirrors, even the barre, but instead of holding a lot of clear space for a mob of tiny ballerinas, the place was full of paintings. Hanging on the walls, propped against chairs, on stands. Everywhere.

The only furniture were an old wooden table full of painting supplies, a ratty couch on one side, and a smaller table in a corner with a speaker on top of it. He should have stopped to throw a few daggers to the offending audio equipment, the culprit of so many sleepless nights, but he couldn’t.

He was completely mesmerized by the art. Like following a siren’s song, he simply walked into the room, lost in the colors. There were so many, and all of them were so gorgeous. Every single one seemed to be abstract, just flowing clouds of color merging together, but some resembled things, like sunsets, or lakes, or rolling fields. He approached the paintings carefully, studying them one by one, fascinated.

That’s when he noticed. In the bottom left corner of all of them was a tiny signature in silver ink. A name. Zayn. _Zayn_ … Was that his neighbor’s name? Was this his art? Why did it sound so familiar? Still plagued by questions, he inspected the rest of the canvas, looking for more clues, until he found them. On the bottom right corner. All of the paintings were marked, with the same silver ink. A song title and an artist name was written on each one of them, in elegant calligraphy. Pavarotti. The Weeknd. Muse. Foo Fighters. The Dixie Chicks? God… the names were as random and varied as the colors and patterns of each piece. Liam was transfixed, submerged in a world that felt almost magical, beyond trying to understand, coldness forgotten somewhere outside the room.

“D’you like ‘em?” Liam jumped in his place when the voice spoke, turning around so fast he got dizzy. Fuck. Standing on the doorway, holding a cup of coffee and a big blanket, looking like he had been watching for a while, was the neighbor. Or Zayn. _Zayn…_

He considered feigning innocence, but there was no pretending he wasn’t looking, it was way too obvious. “Yeah, I mean… they’re amazing,” he replied, non-chalantly, approaching Zayn. “Are they yours?” he asked, curiosity winning the fight against caution.

Zayn smiled, stretching his arms towards him, offering a steaming mug and a cozy blanket. Liam took the latter first, draping it over his shoulders before taking the mug. “Yes and no. I mean, I painted all of them, but most already have owners. This is my work,” Zayn explained, pride clear in his voice, stretching his arms to present the whole room.

For some reason, all of the anger and annoyance Liam felt towards the man started fading away as his body grew warmer and his fascination gained ground. “They’re fantastic,” he complimented him again, looking around, interested in the paintings but taking advantage of the distraction, trying not to ogle Zayn’s skin. “What’s with the songs?” he asked before sipping at the coffee. God, it was perfect and hot and wow, the best thing he had in years.

Zayn laughed, looking down for a moment, like he was embarrassed or something. “Have you ever heard of synesthesia?” he asked, biting his lip, resting his back against a wall.

Liam nodded, frowning. It was the thing when people can see colors when they hear sounds or look at numbers and stuff like that, right? Did that mean… “Wait, so you actually paint the songs?” he asked, suddenly even more impressed than before.

Zayn smiled, big. “Yeah, I do,” he confirmed, fondly looking around at the paintings. “Most of the times I paint by request, you know? Like, people pay me to paint their favorite songs, and then they hang the paintings at their offices or homes. I’ve even had some artists request paintings of their music, that’s something I love doing,” he said, pointing at what looked like a green and blue swirl in a corner.

Liam walked towards the painting to inspect it. The silver calligraphy in the corner read ‘Tiny Dancer, by Elton John’. _What?_ “You’re joking,” Liam demanded, eyes open wide. It couldn’t be real.

Zayn shook his head, looking adorably proud. “’m not, I swear. He’s a lovely man. He loved the idea when he saw one of my paintings at some rich dude’s house and he asked me to paint my favorite song by him,” he beamed. Wow. That was impressive.

“You do only songs?” Liam asked, curiously checking a few more paintings, slowly making his way around the room.

Zayn bit his lips and took a second to reply. “No, not only songs. I also do sounds and voices I like,” he grinned, pointing at a smaller mess of red in a corner.

Liam approached it carefully. The lettering was tiny, but he could read it perfectly. ‘Cute neighbor, screaming’. Did he— _was he joking?_ He felt like he should get angry, but for some reason he couldn’t. He felt… kind of flattered? But instead of letting Zayn know, he just rolled his eyes dramatically, turning around to face him, hoping his blushing face wouldn’t betray him. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered. Finally satisfied with his exploring, he left the paintings behind, approaching the table that sat on one side of the room, carefully parking his butt on the only part of it that wasn’t covered by a clutter of painting supplies.

Zayn just looked at him, still smiling like he was the funniest man in the world. They didn’t say anything for a moment; Liam quietly sipping his coffee, Zayn looking at his feet with an amused smile on his face.

Liam felt like he should say something. Or maybe leave. Yeah, he should just leave and wait for Louis outside, but he couldn’t. Maybe because he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so… so impressed by someone. So fascinated. So curious. The feeling was intoxicating.

So, instead of leaving, he opened his big stupid mouth. Having seen what Zayn actually did, he felt kind of guilty about everything. He should’ve asked why the guy was playing loud music every day. He should’ve done that. Instead, he just screamed like an idiot, and yeah, Zayn didn’t deserve that, not really. “I’m sorry, by the way,” he declared, breaking the silence. “About the screaming, I mean. I didn’t know you were working on these,” he apologized, putting the mug down on the table.

“I did try to tell you, Liam,” Zayn reminded him, leaving his spot by the wall, slowly approaching Liam and—wait, _what?_

Liam frowned, confused. “How do you know my name?” he questioned, because he sure as hell never mentioned it before.

“I asked around,” Zayn chuckled, shrugging like he was half embarrassed half proud of his little accomplishment. Fuck, this man was so… so overwhelming Liam couldn’t even think straight. “I didn’t mind, by the way. The screaming?” he clarified, his eyes suddenly getting more intense as he kept moving forward. Liam couldn’t fucking move, loving the thrill of having Zayn moving closer and closer. “It was kinda hot,” Zayn declared, and Liam effectively lost what little mind he had left.

He knew what was happening, but he couldn’t even flirt back. He was way too nervous. He was completely dazed, lost in Zayn’s eyes, in Zayn’s skin, having lost the ability to pretend he wasn’t drooling.

In a way he knew it was because he never shared a moment like this with another man. In a way it was also because he wasn’t really expecting Zayn to want him back. It shouldn’t really be a surprise either, maybe, Liam wanted to think the tension he always felt was mutual, but…

Everything that was happening was a shock to his system that left him stupid and frozen, half incredibly turned on and excited, half kind of terrified. A little voice suggested leaving, but another voice laughed so loud in Liam’s head he almost cringed. Leaving sounded like a fucking joke.

He just observed Zayn as he approached, staying right where he was. “It was?” he asked, and he kinda meant for it to sound flirty, he did, it wasn’t his fault he was so dizzy it ended up sounding confused instead.

Zayn giggled, finally standing right in front of Liam. The sound was like music, so sweet. “It was,” he confirmed, raising a hand to tentatively touch Liam’s forehead, moving a little lock of hair out of Liam’s forehead. Liam didn’t move. He just opened his mouth, sighing at the small contact, fighting the urge to close his eyes.

Zayn took that as encouragement, his smile growing bigger, his body getting closer. “I like painting with the music really loud because the vibrations help me focus, you know? At first I swear it was that, but once you started complaining… I think I turned it up just to make you come to me again,” he confessed, making Liam shiver, definitely not because of the cold this time. “…all flustered and loud and intense…” he whispered, a small sigh of satisfaction leaving his lips, making Liam feel like fainting.

Liam’s entire body felt on fire, electrified. He didn’t even care about that confession, about all that provocation that made him angry for so long because in a way it was so… it felt so good. So good. Having this god of a man, wanting him like that. “You’re the worst,” was all he managed to croak, sounding so full of shit it was hilarious.

Zayn grinned, his body finally making contact against Liam’s, skin against skin, tearing a broken sigh from Liam’s lungs. His skin felt so soft, so hot. With his nose practically touching Liam’s, Zayn whispered a question. “Does that mean you want me to stop?” he asked, closing his eyes, so close Liam could count his eyelashes. Fuck.

Liam licked his lips, out of breath already. His entire body was screaming one answer, and the rest of him was aligned with it. Maybe no moment before this had been so perfect, so meant to be. Maybe that’s why it never happened. Maybe that’s why it was happening now and all he could think was that he wanted it to happen like never before. “No,” he whispered back, gripping the edge of the table, closing his eyes.

Zayn’s lips made contact so softly at first it felt almost like he was imagining it. Somehow he was expecting a sudden onslaught but no. Of course not. Zayn kissed him with the same softness and calmness Liam always saw in him, and somehow that was even more disarming.

Liam opened his mouth to welcome him, reveling in the taste of sweetened coffee he found between Zayn’s lips. God, he tasted so good, too good. Liam sighed as soon as Zayn’s hands landed on his chest, the contact overwhelming. He finally managed to move his hands, anchoring himself to Zayn’s hips, bringing him closer. Always closer.

The slow crescendo of intensity was so maddening Liam felt like he was flying, and then… And then Zayn must have moved, must have shifted, because he felt him. Awake, hard against his hip. Just like him. Fuck. Zayn pressed harder and Liam exhaled a little moan between his lips and his hands lost their grip and landed back on the table, knocking something down. Who cared? Fuck. Liam was beyond caring.

His legs opened before he could command them to. Zayn easily found his place between them, grinding, his hands gripping Liam’s back as soon as that stupid unnecessary blanket fell from his shoulders, adding to the mess on top of the table.

Mess that soon included their bodies too. Zayn pushed harder and Liam fell back with a moan, landing on top of something sticky that covered the table and he couldn’t give a fuck about, because Zayn was still on top of him, still between his legs, kissing and grinding and moaning delicious little broken moans and Liam was definitely flying.

He held on to Zayn for dear life, his hands all over his back, his legs locked behind his hips. Everything felt too good, the pleasure too dizzying. And then Zayn’s mouth left his to go to his neck and he lost it. He didn’t even care that he was being loud, it felt too good, those lips, those teeth softly biting, that tongue soothing the pain.

He undulated under Zayn, seeking more friction, more pressure. Zayn noticed, and… Oh god, Zayn noticed and sneaked a hand between them, inside Liam’s joggers, finding his cock and wrapping his fingers around it, tight. “Fuck…” Liam moaned, digging nails into Zayn’s skin, making him moan louder too.

Zayn kept going, moving his hand slowly, keeping the rhythm his body had found, still grinding, his mouth roaming Liam’s neck, his collarbones, his chest, kissing and biting and sucking and driving Liam crazy, taking him to the height of the wave of pleasure so fast, too fast.

Liam felt like stopping him, just to make everything last longer, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. He could feel his body tensing, Zayn’s rhythm accelerating, their sounds growing more desperate, and just as Zayn’s glorious lips returned to his mouth, Liam came. Hard.

Zayn never stopped, he slowed his hand down, grinning against Liam’s lips, making the orgasm last forever while he chased his own, his other hand finding its way inside Liam’s joggers too, gripping his ass.

Oh good, feeling and seeing Zayn come was the most beautiful thing Liam ever witnessed. He opened his eyes and he watched as Zayn’s eyebrows knitted together, and his mouth opened still over Liam’s. His movements became erratic and desperate and there… there it was, that definitive moan as he stilled against Liam, so hard Liam could feel him pulsating as he came. In his pants. Between his legs. Shit.

Liam was dazed and overwhelmed and half way to in love by the time Zayn opened his eyes with a lazy smile on his ruined lips. Oh wow. “Oh, wow,” Liam whispered. He had to say it out loud.

Zayn didn’t reply. He just kissed him, back to the calm and languidness, breathless and sweet. Liam held him close, still too satisfied to think about anything else but Zayn.

At least until a scream interrupted them. _“LIAM!”_ Oh shit. Louis. Louis and his key. Louis, looking for him, while he was, well… busy. Louis forcing him to get back to reality.

Liam froze. Zayn didn’t. “Your friend is here,” he whispered, smiling against Liam’s lips, like it didn’t even matter.

“I have to go,” Liam claimed, knowing he had to move but fuck, it was so hard. He didn’t want to. Part of him told him he was supposed to. Wasn’t that how hook ups worked?

Zayn shook his head slowly, helping him sit back up again but never letting go of his body, his hand still down Liam’s joggers while his other arm wrapped around him. “Please come back? Like, go get your key and come back to me?” Zayn suggested, looking actually hopeful, making Liam dizzy.

“I can’t leave Louis alone, sorry,” Liam explained, trying to move Zayn away unconvincingly. He was so warm, so delicious, so… so good. Liam wanted more but he needed to… think, maybe? Try to make sense of everything?

Zayn smiled, moving away, finally removing his come stained hand. Liam thought that was the prettiest color that ever stained them. Zayn seemed to agree, because he actually lifted his hand to his mouth, licking it off, making Liam want to fucking die. Fuck. He looked like the fucking devil, with his own joggers clearly dirty, all flustered and sweaty and erotic. “You sure?” Zayn asked, innocently licking his lips when he was done.

“You’re the worst,” Liam repeated, hopping off the table just to kiss that smug smirk off Zayn’s face. Oh god, the taste of his come mixed with the sweetness of Zayn’s mouth was intoxicating. “I really gotta go, but… we’ll talk, yeah?” he suggested, smiling when Zayn agreed with a nod.

Liam practically fled the room and the house, before Zayn managed to lure him back. Fuck, he had forgotten how fucking cold it was outside. He shivered and hated himself as soon as the cold air hit is sweaty skin. He basically ran all the way to his own house, where he found Louis and Harry sitting on the porch, all huddled up.

“Where were you?” demanded Louis, standing up in unison with Harry.

“Why are you semi naked?" asked Harry, amusedly.

“Where you at the loud neighbor’s?” Louis exclaimed, before Harry could even finish.

“Is that a hickey? Why are you covered in purple paint?” laughed Harry, not giving a fuck about questioning Liam in the fucking cold while they should be opening his door and—wait, what?

Liam looked down, and effectively, there were purple paint stains all over his chest and arms. He touched his hair. It was dirty too. Even his jogger was all purple and fuck. Wow. Oh god. He laughed, feeling his face burn up, covering it with the back of his hand. “Just shut the fuck up and open my door? I’m fucking freezing my ass off,” he complained. Maybe they deserved to hear the story. Just maybe. If they opened the door first.

 

~~~

 

_“Well I know when you're around ‘cause I know the sound,  
I know the sound of your heart…”_

 

Liam decided on shutting the hell up. In part because seeing Louis and Harry squirming with curiosity was too delicious to pass up, and in part because he was exhausted. Like, truly done.

That part he did explain to his friends, and luckily they understood. They agreed to leave him alone, if Liam promised he would tell the whole story some other day, in full detail. Liam relented. They also got a bottle of wine in the negotiation, one they promised to sip in silence while Liam went to bed.

He almost felt bad, hopping in the shower and washing all that purple away. He relived every second of what had happened with closed eyes, reveling in the feeling, the sensations still lingering all over his body.

He went to sleep with a stupid smile on his face, feeling happier than ever before.

At least until loud music woke him up. The 1975. This time, he smiled. He looked at the time on his cellphone and his smile grew bigger when he saw he had actually managed to sleep a whole 12 hours.

Feeling ridiculously relaxed, he put a big sweater on and after peeing, he went downstairs. Louis and Harry were already up, in the kitchen. Harry was cooking while Louis looked at him like he understood what he was doing. “Morning,” they sang in unison when they saw Liam.

“Some hot guy left a package for you outside,” Louis warned him, too enamored by his boyfriend’s culinary attempts to pay attention to Liam’s reaction.

He had no idea what that was about, but something told him he already knew. Before even considering breakfast, he went to the front door. Sitting on the wooden rocking chair his mum left behind, sat a small, flat package, book-sized.

Liam grabbed it and his heart told him he was better off opening it outside, alone, away from the curious eyes of their friends. He carefully removed the wrapping paper, and inside, he found a small canvas. A small painting. Oh. Wow.

It was like a purple galaxy, dotted with tiny pink constellations. It was beautiful. On one corner, it had Zayn’s name, in that same gorgeous silver calligraphy. On the other, something was written _. ‘Liam, moaning,’_ it read. Oh god. Liam felt his face burn. Was that how Zayn saw his sounds? Was that what his pleasure looked like? Wow…

Before he could recover, he found a small card in the package, behind the canvas. _‘Dinner at my place, tonight? I wanna know what all your sounds look like,’_ it said, and Liam laughed. He laughed filled with joy, holding the painting and the card close to his chest, chancing a look in the direction of Zayn’s house. He was dying to see himself through those eyes.

“Something tells me you’re not going to complain about the music anymore,” a chirpy voice asked. Liam turned around to see both Louis and Harry standing on the doorway, knowingly looking at him with smiles on their lips.

“You have no idea,” Liam replied, wondering what color his laugh was.

 

~~~


End file.
